


That Looks on Tempests

by emjee (MerryHeart)



Series: Nature Points the Way, So Much Left to Say [3]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Comfort Fluff, F/M, Shakespeare fluff, let's be real my goal with every fic is Shakespeare fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 11:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10593312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryHeart/pseuds/emjee
Summary: “'Are you insane?'Adam turned toward her with an expression of utmost surprise, as if it was natural for him to be standing out in the middle of a thunderstorm and he couldn’t understand why she was yelling.She grabbed his hand and began to haul him toward the castle. 'Inside. Now.'”A summer thunderstorm has Belle on edge and Adam drawn back into the past.





	

Belle shut her bedroom window against the gusting July wind as the sky thickened and rain began to fall. She’d been restless all day, she was nursing a throbbing headache, and she couldn’t find her fiancé anywhere.

The sky lit up and a resounding crack of thunder followed.

Her heart leapt in her throat as she jumped away from the window, striding to the heavy door and slamming it behind her.

_Where the devil is he?_

She raced down the main staircase and nearly collided with Lumière.

“Have you seen Adam?” she demanded, her voice too high and pinched for her own liking.

“Last I saw him he was near the stables, mademoiselle. He said—”

But Belle did not wait to hear what he’d said, even though it probably would have proven useful. She burst through the main doors into a torrential downpour. She was halfway to the stables when she saw him, standing out at the very edge of the garden, letting himself get soaked.

“ _Are you insane_?”

Adam turned toward her with an expression of utmost surprise, as if it was natural for him to be standing out in the middle of a thunderstorm and he couldn’t understand why she was yelling.

She grabbed his hand and began to haul him toward the castle. “Inside. _Now_.”

He stumbled after her, marveling at how tight her grip was. “Belle, darling, it’s alright—”

“I did not nearly lose you only to have you die in a thunderstorm two weeks before our wedding!”

“I was standing in the garden, not riding a horse down a muddy mountain path!”

“Standing out there in the middle of open land,” she scolded. “You could have been hit by lighting.” She wrenched open the castle’s double doors and yanked him inside. The doors slammed shut.

“Do you know how astronomical the odds of that are?” Adam asked, his voice echoing as they both proceeded to drip water all over the entrance hall. “You are familiar with the phrase _you’ve as much a change of that as being struck by lightning_ , I assume?”

Belle shut her eyes and rubbed both hands over her face. “I just…I don’t…” Thunder boomed again, and she started to shake.

“There now,” Adam murmured, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her. “Everything’s fine. I’m sorry for shouting.”

“It’s not that,” she told him, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Then talk to me, sweetheart. Can you tell me what it is?”

Belle looked up at him and grimaced. “I don’t like storms.”

His brow furrowed. “But—I’ve seen you out in the rain before.”

A few days after the curse had been broken, they’d been walking in the garden as it started to rain. Instead of making a dash for the castle, Belle had kicked off her shoes and proceeded to chase him, laughing as she splashed through newly-formed puddles. He was still unused to being smaller again, having a different center of gravity, and had ended up sprawled on a particularly wet patch of grass, watching the raindrops fall down to meet his face as Belle leaned over him, her hair coming out of its braid. Her feet had been so muddy when they’d gone back inside that he’d carried her to her room to avoid the collective wrath of Mrs. Potts, Plumette, and Cogsworth (in that order).

“It’s not the rain I mind,” Belle explained. “It’s not even—it doesn’t make sense. It’s the light, and the noise. I’ve read as much as I can about thunderstorms since I got here, trying to figure them out, and I thought things would be different, but I can’t—” Her words were tumbling out, tripping over each other as her breathing grew rapid. “And my head’s hurt all day and I can feel my heart beating through my entire body and there’s just this sense of, of impending doom, and—” Adam squeezed her tighter. “And when I couldn’t find you, it’s absurd, I know it is, but I don’t like being separated from you, not knowing where you are.” Her fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket. “And of course you don’t have to—you’re your own person, you don’t have to tell me everywhere you…” Thunder rolled again. “But I got so nervous.”

Adam pressed her head against his shoulder and began to stroke her hair. “It’s not absurd, my love. I…I understand entirely. The separation, not the storms.”

“The storms are ridiculous, I know.”

“They’re not. It’s—even if it’s not rational, as our _philosophes_ might say, it’s still real.”

“I dislike being irrational.”

“I know you do. But you’re allowed to be, once in a while. Which is, for you, when it storms.”

Belle took a deep breath, inhaling Adam’s familiar, comforting scent. She didn’t understand how a human being could _smell_ warm, but he did, like bergamot and cedar and, rather unfortunately at the moment, damp linen and wool. She breathed in again and felt her heartbeat slow slightly. Adam was rubbing circles at her back. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, pressed against him as she was. It was immensely comforting.

“What were you doing out there?” she asked. “Just standing in the rain for its own sake?”

“Actually…” Adam sighed. “I’m afraid I was being rather irrational myself. This is—this is the first thunderstorm that’s rolled in for over a decade now. My mind was…elsewhere.” Thinking back to the last time the winds had gusted and the rain had beat against the window panes. Standing out at the edge of the garden, remembering the enchantress, he’d felt the lash of driving rain against his face and thought, _This is right_.

And then the woman he loved had called him a madman. _She_ was the one who was right.

“I was thinking,” he continued, “about how everything has changed, since the last time. And how inexpressibly thankful I am for that.”

Belle pulled away just far enough to put one hand against his cheek. “I love you.”

He turned his head to kiss her palm. “I love you, too.”

“I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

Adam bent to touch his forehead to hers. “You won’t have to find out. I promise.”

She threw her arms around his neck and he hugged her close, lifting her off the ground and rocking her back and forth. “ _Ma ch_ _è_ _re Belle_ ,” he whispered, “ _le chant de mon cœur et le r_ _ê_ _ve de ma vie_. I am my beloved’s and she is mine.”

“World without end.”

“That’s right.”

He set her down and she attempted a small smile. “My heart no longer feels like it’s trying to escape from my body.”

“That’s progress.”

“And I could perhaps use a cup of tea.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Potts will insist you have several, especially given the state of your clothes.” It was probably inappropriate, at a time like this, to consider how much he enjoyed the sight of Belle soaking wet, but he was a rational creature—most of the time—and was therefore bound to acknowledge facts when they presented themselves.

They had barely turned their backs to the door when there was a pounding on the other side, followed by another boom of thunder.

Adam felt the blood drain from his face.

_Not rational_ , he told himself, but then again, an enchanted rose and a transformative curse were hardly the height of empiricism, so perhaps he had reason to be nervous.

He stepped forward and pulled the door open.

Maurice stood at the top of the stairs, soaking wet. “Is Belle alright?”

“Papa!” The woman in question rushed forward and pulled her father in out of the rain. “What were you thinking, going out in this mess?”

“Well, it wasn’t raining when I left,” he explained, removing his hat and hanging it on the thoroughly inanimate coat stand. “But the sky looked ominous this morning and I know that you…” He closed his eyes and exhaled softly. “I hope you’ll forgive your worrisome father and his meddling instincts. Of course you’re safe, and you have—”

He was cut off by Belle throwing her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Maurice smiled, small but happy, and hugged her close for a few moments before releasing her.

“I do hope you’ll stay the night, Maurice,” said Adam, stepping forward tentatively. Belle’s father seemed to like him, despite past unpleasantries, but still, it was a relationship Adam handled with care.

“I would be delighted to,” Maurice declared, peeling off his overcoat. “I don’t suppose I could find my way to some tea?”

“We were just on our way,” said Belle, taking her father’s arm.

Adam gave them a nod. “I’ll be right there.” The other two went on ahead of him.

He turned back to the open door, intending to watch the rain for a few more moments before making his way to the kitchens, but he found his view blocked by a hooded figure.

There was a rushing sensation in his head. He felt his hands begin to shake.

_So this is what they mean_ , he thought, _when they say your blood runs cold_.

“P-please,” Adam stuttered, extending a hand, willing it to stay steady. “Come in out of the storm.”

The cloaked woman did not take his hand, but stepped forward with purpose, the door swinging shut behind her. She lowered her hood and he recognized her—the beautiful woman with bright eyes and curling hair, the woman Belle knew as Agathe.

She looked on him for long, silent moments. He could hear blood pounding in his ears.

“My,” she breathed, with a soft shake of her head. “How you’ve changed.” He thought—or had he imagined it?—he thought he saw the corner of her mouth dimple in a small, secret sort of smile.

He took a deep breath and managed to keep his voice from trembling. “Can I interest you in a seat by a warm fire? Perhaps a cup of tea?”

“You are gracious to offer,” she said, “but I think not. I only intended a short visit.”

“I see.”

“You will be married soon?”

He ducked his head as a grin spread across his face. He couldn’t help it. “Two weeks. I—” _I still can’t believe it_. His voice was serious as he met her gaze. “I must thank you. I owe you a debt, for…” _For making my life hell, for making me realize it had been hell for years, for giving me a chance to change_. “For bringing her to me.”

Agathe let out a strangely delicate snort. “She brought herself to you.”

“I would believe you if you said you helped.”

She shrugged. “A fallen tree here, a very fast horse there…”

“You will be welcome at the wedding, of course.”

“Oh,” she said serenely, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I haven’t missed a wedding at this castle in centuries.”

Adam’s eyes widened slightly. “Centuries?”

She smiled that secretive smile again. “And I couldn’t miss my own godson’s marriage.”

His eyebrows flew upward. “ _Godson_?”

“Your mother never told you, I suppose,” she sighed. “I told her not to wait too long, but…well, things were hardly easy for her, so blame is not mine to place, in this instance. But I was her godmother, as I am yours.”

“But that’s not—wait…” There was something stirring at the corner of his memory, stories his mother had told him when he was very small, tales she said she’d learned from her own Breton nurse, of forests and witches and—“Fairies.”

The glimmer in her eyes told him he was right. “What does that playwright of yours say? ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ But I imagine by now you understand that.”

Adam nodded, unable to speak as he processed his relationship to this woman—fairy— _godmother._

“I was unwilling to see you become the man who had effectively destroyed a woman so dear to me.” There was something detached about her voice, but it warmed ever so slightly as she continued, “And you deserved more than such a fate.”

“You have…interesting methods.”

“Our ways are not your ways,” she said simply. “But you need not be afraid of me. I’m quite satisfied. Your love shall be blessed and your days shall be long. ‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.’ Very talented, for a human. I shall have to find out whose godson he is. She did wonderfully with him.”

Adam felt there was nothing he could say to that.

“I must be on my way,” Agathe said, lifting her hood. Thunder crashed.

“It’s still quite unpleasant out there. Are you sure I couldn’t entreat you to stay?”

“You needn’t worry about me. I’ll return soon enough.”

She opened the door without his help and descended into the deluge. He had intended to watch her until she was through the gate, but the wind blew a driving wave of rain across the garden, and she was gone.

 

He told Belle everything that night, after Maurice had gone to bed and they were sharing a final cup of tea by the fireside in the library. The rain had stopped, but the air was cool enough in the aftermath of the storm that the warmth from the hearth was entirely welcome. They sat facing each other, their chairs so close their knees touched.

“That’s incredible,” she breathed as he finished explaining his encounter with the fairy. “No one ever truly understood Agathe.”

“It seems like no one ever truly understood plenty of things in your village. Love of books, the brilliance of your laundry contraption, female independence…”

“Yes, well…I always tried to be kind to her. Gave her extra eggs, and vegetables from the garden. And she was kind in turn, I suppose, but rather…aloof. She had no family, refused to marry, begged on the street and lived in the forest. It all makes sense now. She was—in disguise, I suppose, watching to see how everything developed. She rescued my father, you know. I owe her my own debt of gratitude.”

She set her teacup aside. Adam reached out and took both her hands in his own. “She said something, before she left, a line from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I think I used to know it, but I can’t remember all of it now. _Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments_.”

Belle’s face lit up. “ _Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. Oh no!_ ” She shook her head, a fierce light in her eyes. “ _It is an ever fix_ _èd mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken_ …” She paused, looking at him the most sincere look of wonder. “That looks on tempests and is never shaken.”

He leaned forward and brushed his nose against her temple. “You’ve looked on so many tempests,” he whispered, “and weathered them beautifully, every one.” She smiled and turned her face up to kiss him. “I think I remember the rest,” he said, kissing her again, soft and slow. “ _It is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken._ ” He stood, pulling her to her feet and kissing her once more. “ _Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come_.” She closed her eyes as the back of his fingers brushed across her cheek and down the slope of her neck, making her shiver. “ _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out_ —” He nudged two fingers under her chin, lifting her head so her gaze met his, “— _even to the edge of doom_.” Every inch of her was alive, shimmering for this impossible man, who’d lost himself and found his way again. Who’d only gone looking for it because she’d stumbled across his path.

“ _If this be error and upon me prov’d,_ ” she murmured.

“ _I never writ_ ,” he answered, “ _nor no man ev’r loved._ ”

She pulled him down to her and opened her mouth against his, tasting him. Loving him.

And there they stayed for quite some time, in front of the fading fire, exchanging their own wordless sonnet.

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten several requests in the comments for Belle + panic attack, so here you go, my dears. Her symptoms are very much based on my own; everyone's mental conditions look different, of course.  
> I've also been thinking a lot about Agathe lately and this story incorporates some of my headcanons, namely that she's not a human witch or enchantress, but a fairy, in the French style, like the ones who appear in the original story. Her actions may seem drastic to humans, but to her super-powerful-fairy logic, they probably make perfect sense. Also, if Adam's her godson, it gives her incentive to stick around and see how everything turns out, and maybe help some things along. She doesn't *want* him to stay a beast forever, after all.


End file.
